


The Trouble with Tech.

by saltkettle



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 07:49:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3167105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltkettle/pseuds/saltkettle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>International superspies... who wear friendship bracelets?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trouble with Tech.

It was a mistake thinking that Clint didn't know how to work the internet. Sure, he'd just had a mishap with the microwave, but that was a microwave, and those things had it out for him. Yeah, he'd left his spoon in the cup, but that could happen to anyone. He had just wanted to test out that brownie in a cup recipe that kept popping up all over his Tumblr, and damnit! a man could perform kitchen experiments that turned out poorly without being completely technology illiterate.

Clint was a goddamn secret fucking agent, thank you very much. He regularly dealt with technology on the very edge of human capability. And occasionally beyond when R&D nabbed something especially kicky from some battle to the death with alien invaders.

They don't hand out pilots licences to ignoramuses whose thumbs are shoved so far up their rear ends that they can floss backwards. The point is. THE POINT is. He knows what a fucking meme is, thank you very much Tony. Captain Freaking America knows what a meme is, so someone born a century later might have picked up a few things. The other point is that Clint might be a little bit drunk. And sad that the brownie-in-a-mug didn't work. At least not with a spoon in.

So. Second go around. Clint had put away the ingredients as he cooked, so as to make cleanup easier and hide the fact that he was flagrantly stealing chocolate chips from Bruce's stash. Unfortunately this meant he had to get it all out again, but as mentioned, he is a goddamned fucking super spy, he can handle a stupid three AM pantry raid.

Clint stopped for a second to giggle, glad for the seven billionth time that JARVIS couldn't read minds, and take another swig of Natasha's second best Vodka. The brownie-in-a-cup was gonna taste So. Damn. Good.

"What are you doing up?" A soft voice caused Clint to throw the spoon he'd been holding with deadly accuracy toward Natasha's eyeball. The projectile was caught, and his attempt garnered a raised eyebrow.

"Baking." Clint shrugged, cool-like. He wasn't startled. Natasha had set down the spoon, so there was no evidence that his heart was doing it's steady best to escape its flesh prison. Clint was a master of cool.

"How long has that been in there?" She asked casually, because this was a completely normal, non-weird conversation.

"Erg? Some time. I put it in for the normal amount of time that brownies should bake." There was a convincing head bob because Clint knew what he was doing and is definitely not drunk.

"And you've definitely accounted for the fact that mug desserts only need about a minute and a half because there's less batter?" Once again her reply is super casual. Clint may be practicing a fair bit of self delusion here, but he has been partnered with Natasha for going on six years, and he knows her warning signs by now.

"I saved you some vodka?" He tries, ever so casually opening the microwave door despite a good three minutes left on the timer. Smoke doesn't quite pour out, but when Clint reaches in to grab the mug it burns him and shatters in his hand. "Aww mug." Clint whines, unhappy that his comfort food is proving less comfortable than he had hoped.

Natasha calmly refrains from murdering him.

Clint wonders if he could get away with sweeping the still steaming mess into the trash can and running away before the conversation went any further. Not that he doesn't love Natasha. He loves her more than brownies. And definitely more than vodka. He just. Doesn't want to talk. "No one who knows you actually thinks you're an idiot. They don't hand out pilots licences to ignoramuses."

JARVIS might not read minds, but Natasha definitely does. Clint squinted at her, but refrained from playing her game. He knew his rights. Anything he said can and will etc. etc. "People just can't resist a good picture, and you have to admit that it was a good picture."

Clint contemplates just leaving the mess on the floor and bolting. But the chocolate chips. And Bruce. No. He gets out a dustbin and begins industriously wedging under the rapidly cooling molten mass. Natasha who?

"The silent treatment? Cute." She watches without helping as he struggles. Judging with her judgy eyebrows.

Because he is weak, Clint breaks first. "I'm not mad that you guys made 'hawkward' trend again. I'm just ticked that you thought I wouldn't figure it out when I follow all of you on twitter."

"I think that's the saddest thing that I've heard this year." She admits.

"Which is why I didn't say it out loud!" They stare at each other for a bit, Natasha analyzing the things he hasn't said, and then she hops up on the counter to pet his hair while he tries again at the brownies, this time with his partner there to remind him of things like measuring spoons and baking times.Of course it turns out perfectly, and they share it, washing it down with swigs of vodka.

"I miss you." He admits.

"I know." She twists her lips, thinking. "I have an idea." She whips out her phone, not a starkphone to Tony's continued dismay, and starts typing things in. He curls almost completely around her, a familiar weight against her back. "I'll buy you this, and then you can have a bit of me with you while I'm away."

'This' is an actual facts friendship bracelet, made of tasteful black leather with a tiny little spider charm dangling by the clasp. Clint's lips quirk with a little spark of happy.

"Then you have to have one too!" Clint demands, because friendship, and he makes grabby hands at her smart phone. It takes very little time at all to find her a little arrow charm necklace, and to add it to her cart.

Still sober, despite a lot of vodka, Natasha takes over the purchasing of symbols of their undying BFF-ness. "I wish Coulson could have one." Clint confesses in a fit of actual stupid honesty.

"What would he get, if he was here?" Her tone is careful, but her body is still relaxed against him. 

"Cufflinks. One for each of us." He says too quickly. He's thought of this before.

"You wanna get them anyway? A memorial?" Her voice is careful. As careful as it was when she told him about-

"You know something!" 

"I suspect something."

Its a testament to their friendship that he doesn't even feel betrayed that she didn't tell him before. 

"What's our plan?" He asks instead of something petty like 'how long have you suspected?' or 'were you even going to tell me?'

"Buy the cufflinks." She says instead of anything useful. "Lay low. I'm not sure what Fury is playing at."

Clint is willing to follow her lead, but not quite blindly. "What will you be doing?"

"I've got orders to watch over Captain tight pants, so I'll be in DC."

Clint avoids making puppy dog eyes. Barely.

"I suppose New York isn't super low profile"

"Not exactly."

"I haven't had any mission since-"

"I know."

"Bed-sty?"

"Will I find you beat up by Russians again."

"No?"

"No."

 


End file.
